Christian versus Atheist

She walked into my seminar room with an older man. They had arrived 15 minutes late and, consequently, they sat at the very back of the room.

I think all of us have an imaginary visage of what perfect beauty, sexiness and true love might look like... The ideal, imagined soul mate that lives in our place of dreams. We build this visage upon our earliest and most satisfying puppy loves and from our fantasies - including those that have been inspired by hard or soft-core pornography, and from movies, TV shows and books.

This mystery guest in the back of the room was the sum total of all those things for me. She had blonde hair, bright eyes, a wide, natural smile, the face of an angel - at least as I see angels, strong posture, a beautiful figure, and a tasteful outfit. I analyzed these characteristics in the sixty seconds as she and her partner signed our register and picked up their nametags.

Would they stay to the end? An early departure would really disappoint me! I assumed the man was her husband. Lucky bastard.

It was foolish of me to have these thoughts. But I've always been a romantic fool, as the songwriters describe us.

"Fools fall in love in a hurry/Fools give their hearts much to soon/Just play them two bars of Stardust/Just hang out one silly moon."

I can't name that song, but I remember those lines. Every song that's ever been written about romantic fools has resonated with me. 'Statue of a Fool,' from the sixties puts me in a trance.

An hour passed before our first break. Eager attendees captured my time at the front of the room. My mystery woman and her presumed husband stayed in the back. Forty feet of separation, but I could see that one of my seminar organizers seemed to know her. I might never meet her up close but I'd be able to find out some details.

Her personality was effervescent. A knot of people surrounded her, all engaged in animated conversation. Damn! This was killing me.

The older man turned out to be her father, a minister. That radiant smile she wore all the time was a believer's smile, learned in church, ingrained from birth. She was one of those virginal women who projected her purity and love for Christ through her countenance - and she was great at it. Cultish people make me puke. It is so nutty. But when my need to puke was stirred together with my desire to fulfil my dreams with this woman, the puke part disappeared.

Would she be interested in me? Yes! The groupie effect was on my side. I was the great Bill Xxxxxx, the teacher whom everyone assumed was a good Christian. Audiences and my followers appreciated my honesty, my knowledge, my wit and my good character. Indeed, that's not far from the truth. I'm a bright guy and a good person.

But it doesn't come from Jesus. No one's goodness comes from Jesus. There are good Christians and bad Christians. There are good atheists and bad atheists. Good Muslims and bad Muslims. Goodness is not based on religion.

"God bless you, Mr. Xxxxxx."

I heard that many times each week.

Some might call me, "Such a good Christian man."

Those same people would bless me every time I sneezed. That may not bother most people but it bugs the shit out of me.

At the end of the meeting I met Beth and her father. Through our mutual friend she became my friend and I, hers. Her father liked me, as did her husband.

I can't reveal my exact profession, but, indeed, I became a positive force in these people's lives. I never strayed into their marriage and never let on that I was sort of in love with this delightful woman. More than a few times she was the honored guest in my mind when I masturbated, and sometimes she had that honor as I made love with other women. I flirted with her when the opportunity came up but never did or said anything that was out of place.

One day, a few years later, I heard that Beth and Jimmy were getting divorced.

"Oh, my gosh," I said. That's terrible."

I didn't mean it. In my mind I was doing handsprings.

I didn't have a solution for the Christian conflict we would surely have, but I knew I'd have an at bat with this woman. She knew it, too.

Post divorce, the first time we were together was at a another seminar. She attended under the pretence of bringing a guest, but she found time to have dinner with me and stop by my room where we immediately went at each other like animals. We fell into each other's arms, engaging in deep, probing, hungry kisses. I did plenty of full body groping, which she did very little to fend off. Within minutes we were wrapped around each other in bed, fully clothed. My hand was under her dress, enjoying the feel of her firm, round ass. At first she didn't want my hand in her panties but I was close enough to smell her woman scent and was dying to put my fingers against her slit so I could bring them to my mouth and taste her.

Our shoes came off and then my shirt - to avoid wrinkles, you know. We shared more and more deep kisses that were as good as full-fledged sex with some women. My juices were flowing and I made sure she felt my erection against her leg and hip. At one point I grabbed her hand and placed it on my cock. She held on and reciprocated by allowing my fingers to rub on her clit and probe into her slit. I pulled my fingers to my face and let her see that I liked her taste. I rubbed what was left of her aroma on my upper lip, right below my nose.

A couple of minutes later I unzipped my pants.

"No, don't do that," she said.

But when I pulled my cock out she held it like she owned it and said it was larger than she was expecting. I think she had touched only three other cocks in her life and perhaps mine was taking the blue ribbon based on that limited sample size. I put some precum on my fingers and put them into her mouth, which she greedily sucked in.

When I tried to go down on her she resisted. "No, no, I can't do that."

"What does that mean?" I asked. "I want to lick you. We don't have to make love." That was my compromise for the night and I meant it, but she insisted that she could never have an orgasm out of wedlock.

"That's something very special for a husband and wife. I just can't. Please respect me."

She didn't answer. We just kept kissing. Slower. Deeper. Beth then moved down to check out my cock, which is textbook beautiful if I do say so myself. It is straight, smooth-skinned, beautiful head, no unsightly veins or warts, trimmed pubic hair...and on this day it was juicing like crazy. She took a taste and made an, "ummm, ummm," sound.

She went deep on me.

Oh, my fucking God! For a few seconds I think I knew Jesus. She wasn't really giving me a blow job, she was just worshipping at the alter of hard cock.

"It's been a long time," she said.

"A few months?" I suggested.

"No, Jimmy didn't believe in oral. I haven't had my mouth around a penis for fifteen years."

I started moving my hips in and out very slowly. This was for her.

"It's like riding a bicycle," I said. "You never forget."

"Move onto your back," she commanded.

I complied and she started after me in earnest. Deep, perfect plunges around my eager cock. She went for a little more than a minute and then came up for air.

"I want you to tell me when you're about to cum," she said. "I like to dive very deep at the last second and get the first couple of shots deep into my throat. Will you do that for me?"

"You're about two minutes away from the Mother of all Loads," I said. But I asked if she wanted me to lick her pussy first. "Don't the two things go hand in hand?"

"No, I don't want to climax. I don't expect you to understand. It's a commitment I've made and it's very important to me."

I lay back and submitted. If God wanted me to cum in her mouth, then let His will be done. Down she went. Then back up. Then very deep. Then back up. She got into a rhythm. Her wet crotch was sitting on one of my thighs and I could feel its heat. Down she went. Back up. I started tightening the muscles in my legs and pinched one of her legs between mine.

"I'm close," I said.

A few more downs and ups. I was watching her angelic face ride up and down on my rod, and the stimulation was rising. It was that point where you want to cum and yet you don't want it to ever end; the no-man's land of sexual stimulation.

"You've got me," I said. "Here it comes."

She plunged all the way to the bottom and I started gushing. One gush, two, three. On the third ejaculation she gagged and a big glob of cum came spurting out of her nose. She came up laughing and trying not to spill what was in her mouth. She also didn't want to miss the last few globs she knew were coming.

"That was wonderful," she said. "That's never happened to me before."

"I love you, Beth," I told her. It was the best line I could think of and it was sort of true.

Hell, who knows about that kind of thing?

Our relationship was ultimately destined to fail. She gave me dozens and dozens of great Christian blow jobs. She even let me plunge into her. Many times, in fact. She let me eat her. But she always stopped the action before she broke her vow to the Almighty. Can you believe that shit?

For about a year I thought we would finally get over our differences. We went to Hawaii together and I prayed on the beach with her. It was a beautiful night, thousands of stars, a couple of planets. I asked her if she would listen to me pray and tell me her thoughts.

"Dear God. I'm here with Beth on this beautiful night at this beautiful place. If You are real and all-knowing, then You know what is in my heart. You know I'm not a believer, not even a little. And yet, here I am praying to You and I suppose also to Jesus. Beth believes in both of You. Okay, I'm playing the 'what if?' game tonight. I've giving You the benefit of the doubt. But I won't try to fool You and act pious. That wouldn't work. So what's a guy supposed to do in my place. My heart is open. My mind is open. I'm here in this beautiful woman's arms asking You to enter my heart and mind if You want me to become a believer. According to the Christians, You could save me if You wanted to, and yet I'm not feeling it. My guess is there is no You. It's all a crock of shit. Now help Beth tolerate my use of profanity. Remind her that You know what's in my mind and heart. You know I am open. You know I use words like shit and God damn it and Jesus fucking Christ every now and then. It's no secret."

They I lay silent for a minute.

"Okay, God. Okay Jesus. You guys don't want me. Maybe You exist for Beth, but You sure as hell don't exist for me. I gave You this opportunity to speak to me and You turned me down. I'll remain open, of course. You can reach me tomorrow or next year. But I can't help but wonder why You didn't make Your move tonight. Beth, you saw that God passed up this opportunity. Maybe You need to reconsider YOUR beliefs. What do you think?"

"That's not the way it works," she said. "God doesn't show up on demand."

"Sweetheart, that wasn't a demand, it was an offer. I've been open all my life. I've heard the arguments and read a lot of books and used the logic that you say God gave me. It just doesn't compute. If you can come to see the truth we can have the most wonderful life together."

It took us almost an hour to get back to Waikiki. We stopped talking about the prayer and went back to our erotic ways. She sucked and swallowed. I donated.

I knew I was not going to convert to Christianity but I somehow thought Beth would come to her senses. Well, it was not to be. She was totally brainwashed. And her parents - although they liked me - were against our relationship.

It came to a head - about three minutes of head - on a seminar cruise. I sensed that things were ending, but our passion sustained us for about twenty-four hours. She gave me a final blow job at midnight under a ship's ladder with stars overhead and passengers dangerously close. She then informed me that she was going to marry a minister from another state.

No regrets from here! What will be, will be.

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